


with every broken bone

by acciothirteen



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 03:53:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6407698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acciothirteen/pseuds/acciothirteen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“i never wanted you to go.” he reached for the remote and muted the tv, pulling away so he could look at you properly. “but you know i can’t ask you to stay, either.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	with every broken bone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [noos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/noos/gifts).



> For Reina. Just because.
> 
> Title taken from the One Republic's song I Lived (but tbh i like the glee cast version more).  
> Set after the BVB v Bayern game.

**i.**  
you didn't know which one was worse;  
playing against your former club, or not playing at all.

you weigh down the pros and cons as you made your way to the field, where everyone was warming up. your eyes scanned through the yellow jackets, trying to find that perfectly coiffed red-blond hair.

instead, a tall figure block your figure and you looked up, slightly annoyed, but it dissipated quickly when you saw mats' wide grin. he pulled you into this weird handshake, and you laughed delightedly.

he ruffled your hair. "nice to see you, götze." you yelped and scrambled back. "not the hair, dammit, hummels!"

he laughed wholeheartedly and shook his head. "i could see why you and that idiot over there are together."

you can't help the smile that was forming on your face, and the way your cheeks heat up, so you rolled your eyes. "shut up."

mats simply hummed in reply. "he's right over there, you know."

"i'll see him after." you glanced at marco, who was laughing and goofing around with auba. missing him felt like a punch in the gut right then. you averted your eyes, looking back at mats and he gave you a far-more understanding look than you were comfortable with.

"he missed you, you know."

"yeah, i know."

  
**ii.**  
marco didn't say anything when he walked past you in the tunnel during halftime, so you stay quiet. you hung your head during pep's speech in the locker room, trying to push out the anger that you're feeling.

lewy gave your shoulder a light squeeze as everyone headed out. he knew you longer (and by default, _almost_ better) than anyone else on the team, after all. "alright?"

you contemplated lying to him, but you know he'll see right through it. instead, you shrugged and tried to look as nonchalant as you could manage.

he gave you a sad smirk, which somehow still looked slightly arrogant, and wrap his arm around your shoulder. "you'll prove him wrong."

you hope so, too.

the second half was quieter than the first, and you joined your teammates when they started warming up in front of the yellow wall.

it still looked as magnificent as always. the sea of black and yellow, roaring chants to support their beloved team, and your heart ached a little as you recall the way they used to chant your name. you snapped out of your trance when they started to notice you, and you winced, remembering the color you're currently sporting.

the referee came by not long after, urging you and your teammates to warm up next to bayern's side of the field. you keep your expression neutral, trying to hide the mix relief and sadness that you felt as you jogged away.

  
**iii.**  
the game ended in a goalless draw. there's a mixture of disappointment and sick satisfaction that you feel when the final whistle was blown.

you stood up, wondering if you could slipped out unnoticed to the locker room. you glanced at the field, saw pep yelling at joshua and you sighed. you decided to approach the boy after pep was done grilling him, and you bumped his shoulder lightly. "you did good."

he smiled sadly, his eyes still somehow bewildered. "not good enough, apparently."

"well, at least you played." you tried to hide the hurt in your voice, but you didn't quite managed.

he raised his eyebrow. "dude, you'll be off to france this summer. it doesn't get better than that."

you plastered on a smile, hoping that he was right.

 

 **** **  
** **iv.**

you headed to the home team physio room, smiling politely at the staff that you passed by. you hovered by the door, wondering whether you should knock or not before a pair of long, sweaty arms pulled you into a bear hug.

" _pummelfee_!"

you winced at the screeching of your old hated nickname. "fuck off, hummels."

"aww, that's cute, marshmallow." you turned your head just in time to see ilkay cooed. "now say it like you mean it."

you can't help the undignified yelp that you let out when mats dragged you into the room.

marco was standing on the other side of the room, inside a giant green bucket filled with ice water. he was wearing nothing apart from a tiny black boxers and a towel wrapped around his neck resembling a scarf.

"hey, sunny."

his smile was small and tired, but it was still the best thing you've seen this week. you felt your face broke into a grin.

"hey, champ."

he rolled his eyes at the nickname, a new one that you picked out after you came back from brazil. he's as much of a world cup winner as you are, andré and his dumb whatsapp group name be damned. you couldn't have done it without him, after all.

you strode across the room (it was either that or actually skipping towards him; you decided the former was less incriminating), and marco giggled delightedly. you thought that his expression was way too smug, so you pulled him into a kiss. you sneak in extra tongue solely for mats' benefit.

he let out a breathless _hi_ as you broke apart, his eyes bright under the fluorescent light.

you heard someone pointedly coughed, and you turned around, throwing ilkay a dirty look. "not a word."

"a picture worth a thousand, though," mats said, pointing his phone at you. "smile!"

you laughed, can't help it really, you feel like you're 17 again. mats grinned wickedly and started typing almost immediately.

"bet you five bucks the photo would end up in our NT group chat by midnight,” marco whispered.

"bet you ten it won't even took that long," you replied. "he's probably sending it to mülli and andré as we speak."

marco snatched the hat you're holding in your hands and put it on his head backwards. "you're coming over, right?"

mario snorted. "the fact that you actually had to _ask_ offends me."

"sorry." he smiled sheepishly, but he looked somewhat relieved. "pizza or chinese?"

you weighed out your options. "pizza. and none of that thin-crust nonsense, alright?

 

**v.**

you stared at the rows of houses that you're currently driving through. you're driving marco's aston, he had graciously lent it to you after forcing auba to drive him home with a faux-innocent smile.

your gps told you that the big house at the end of the street, the one with a fucking _picket fence_ , was your destination. you brake the car softly until it came to a stop in front of the driveway.

you shook your head in disbelief, because this couldn't possibly be marco's house. yet, the aforementioned person was sitting on the porch in a grey sweater and sweatpants, playing with his phone. he looked up when he noticed the car pulling over, and waved at you with a giant grin on his face.

you took a deep breath and drove the car into the garage, trying to control your thoughts on why on earth did marco chose a house with a picket fence, of all things.

"you moved around too much," you said as a form of greeting as you threw the key to the aston to him. marco stumbled to caught it, cursing in the process. you sighed. "see, this is why no one trust you with throw-ins."

marco gave you a sour look. "be nice. i imported bavarian pretzels from your favorite bakery in munich. you're not having any if you keep insulting me."

"oh grow a pair, reus." you retorted as you walked into the house.

"have those, actually. and as i recall, _you_ are quite fond of them."

he cackled like a lunatic when your face reddened and replied only with a lame _shut up_.

he took your overnight bag from your hands, kissing the side of your head. "pizza's in the kitchen."

he wandered off to (presumably) his bedroom, leaving you to freely explore the house. you trace the walls with your fingertips, taking it all in. you stumbled upon the kitchen and you amusedly realized it was quite big; marco must've loved it, you know how much he loved to cook. you spotted the pizza box on the counter and grabbed a slice before continuing your exploration of the house.

the living room was next, and you breathed a sigh of relief when he saw marco's old leather couch was there. you love that couch because: a) it was comfortable; b) it was big enough to fit you and marco lying down; c) it was (one of) your favorite make out spot.

you settled on the couch, legs-crossed, and turned on the TV. your eyes wandered around the room, framed jerseys adorning the entire left wall. you smiled, albeit a little smugly, when you saw three of your jerseys up there.

"what are you smiling at?"

marco came in, carrying the pizza box in one hand, two bottles of beer in the other.

"couldn't you have brought this in, jesus," marco grumbled as he sat down next to you, invading your personal space completely.

"i'm a guest in this house aren't i?" you replied sweetly. “and i was looking at your jersey collection. what’s the deal with you and this götze person? you seemed to hang a lot of his jerseys here.”

marco hummed in agreement. “i still have a few more of his, actually. but they’re all hanging in my closet, because mats actually laughed at my face when i hung all of it here.”

“sounds like he’s jealous.”

marco laughed his usual guffaw and you smiled. he opened his arm, and you obliged, tucking yourself neatly into his side. you pressed a soft kiss on the underside of his jaw and he sighed in content. “i missed you.”

“i missed you, too.”

when his hand started to travel lower from your shoulder you rolled your eyes. “hey, you’re the one who said no sex after matches. you gotta live with your decisions, bro.”

he groaned. “don’t call me _bro_. you’re ruining the mood.”

“what mood?” you asked cheekily and he groaned in frustration. “why do i love you?”

“because i do,” you replied. “love you, that is.”

he rolled his eyes but didn’t quite manage to hide the smile blooming on his face, and pulled you closer to his side.

you let him surf the channels until he eventually settled on reruns of _game of thrones_ ’ earlier season.

you two ate in comfortable silence, marco’s fingers drawing random patterns on your thigh the entire time.

“hey, mar,” you said. marco raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement but didn’t turn his head. you suppressed a sigh and continued. “what do you think of liverpool?”

his fingers paused and you felt his body tensed, though his expression gave nothing away as he stared at the tv.

“it’s alright, i guess,” he said after a while. “kloppo’s doing them good.”

“okay,” you replied, your fingers absentmindedly traced the lines of marco’s tattoos.

“it’s far, though,” he continued, and your fingers paused on the small number 19, hidden in an intricate design along his arm. “and i heard the weather is quite shit.”

“says who?” you teased, careful to keep your tone light. marco shrugged. “i don’t know. mes. per. emre. basti.”

“you’re just listing off the guys we know who’s in england,” you replied dryly. marco’s fingers had continued to draw patterns on your thigh, a bit higher this time. “maybe,” he said. “doesn’t make it less true, though.”

“why the sudden interest?” he continued. “you thinking about transferring there?”

“there’s talks,” you admitted. “nothing concrete yet, but kloppo asked.”

“and what did you say?” marco asked, treading lightly.

“i said i’ll think about it,” you replied quietly. “what do you think?”

when you two started dating, you established a rule: your respective careers would always, _always_ comes first. (and an unspoken one: you won’t give your opinion concerning your respective careers unless asked).

you asked; so marco answered.

“i never wanted you to go.” he reached for the remote and muted the tv, pulling away so he could look at you properly. “but you know i can’t ask you to stay, either.”

“you could,” you whispered, your voice hoarse with emotion. “i would stay if you ask me to.”

“i know.” his smiled, rather sadly you thought. “that’s why i won’t.”

“why not?”

“because i don’t want you to stay for me, sunny,” he answered firmly. he took your hands and brought them to his lips, placing a kiss on your knuckles. “i don’t want you to stay because you felt obligated to. i don’t want you to be unhappy.”

“but _you_ make me happy.” you almost cringed at the corny words leaving your own mouth, but it’s the truth. he knew it, too, and he smiled.

“i know, sunny. but you should go, if that’s what you want. we’ve been through a lot worse.” his eyes are green and earnest when he spoke, it made your heart swelled. “besides. you and i wouldn’t be together if you didn’t move to munich.”

that made you smile. it was true. your last night in dortmund was the first time that marco kissed you. it was in his flat, and both of you were crying (though you always conveniently left out that detail when you recount this story to other people, thomas especially), but it was perfect in its honesty.

you two would be okay, wherever you might go. but -

“what if i come back here?”

marco’s hold on your hands tightened. “don’t joke about this.”

you shook your head. “the board called. they’re willing to brought me back.”

“how much?”

“twenty million.” marco let out a low, slightly off-key, whistle. “that’s a lot of money.”

you shrugged. “i don’t really care about that. i just want to play.”

“it won’t be easy.”

“but i’ll be with you.”

he looked at you, contemplation clear on his face. “okay,” he said, finally.

“okay?” you repeated incredulously.

“yeah. i’ll talk to mats tomorrow,” he said, slouching back on the couch, wrapping his left arm around your waist.

“what for?” your heart started to race.

“to ask for his advice and force him to wax poetry about your talent in the media,” he replied calmly. “you know the media would go batshit on this. i’ll make sure that we’d stand on your side.”

“you don’t have to-”

“yes, i do,” he interrupted firmly. “i won’t let you go through all that again.”

he turned the volume back on, his eyes fixed on the screen but his expression was determined.

 

and you smiled, fondly.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm gonna be real right now and say that IF mario does move away from bayern, i don't think he'll go back to bvb. but mario here, in this fic, in this lovely alternate universe is, after all, marco's boyfriend, so it's natural for them to want this, in my opinion.  
> that is all.
> 
> i'm on twitter and tumblr with this same url if you wanna holler.


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